Shy Heat
by kawaiiswag40
Summary: Kyle and Stan have feelings for each other. The problem is timing, or maybe finding the words, or maybe just high school. Fluffy Style.


**A/N: Hi you. :) Warnings: language, OC alert (I'm sorry, but it was necessary for the plot…), and of course I own nothing you recognize. **

**Song for the chapter: All Alright, fun.**

"Is that Natalia Cuntgood?"

"Dude, no way."

A small crowd of ninth grade boys crowded around Kenny's gym locker, where he had hung a poster of his favorite porn actress, covered by nothing more than a terrified-looking cat over her crotch.

"Coach would kill you for hanging this up."

"Like he cares. Have you seen _his _office?" Kenny usually sounded more daring than he really was. But this was quite the ballsy stroke of idiocy, even for Kenny.

"It's better than your school locker," Kyle said, head in his own locker, digging around for deodorant. "Principal Victoria actually would kill you. Not that I really see what the big deal is, guys."

"Are you shitting me?" asked Stan, walking over to his locker by Kyle's. He wore only boxers and was toweling off his hair. Kyle, victoriously clutching his deodorant, shrugged, and stuck his head back in his locker, trying to nonchalantly avoid looking at Stan's half-naked body at all costs necessary.

"Really, look at her," Stan said. "That much boobage has to be illegal, or something."

"I guess."

"Have you seen her?"

"I _guess," _Kyle said more forcefully. He really hated locker rooms. Everything about them. Kyle and two of his closest friends, Kenny and Stan, had joined the South Park High football team together, in a somewhat vain attempt to fit in to their new school.

Or, as Stan put it, "Not be such fucking losers."

Or, as Kenny put it, "Score some hot senior ass and get out of seventh period."

Right. Because ninth grade boy was so much more appealing to senior girls, just because they were on the football team.

It wasn't so bad for Stan. He could catch the ball better than any of the other ninth grade boys. And Kenny wasn't so keen on the finer points of football, like rules and scoring and paying attention, but at least he could run like hell. Kyle? Every afternoon he awkwardly stumbled through the exercises, endured the coach's red-faced screaming at his every mis-step, struggled to keep up, and this odorous den of naked boys they called the locker room was just the cherry on top. It was nothing like basketball, which was speed, strategy, technique. It was testosterone and sweat.

"No, just look at her," Stan said, pushing Kyle's shoulders toward the poster. "How is that not worth it?"

Kyle sighed, and cocked his head to the side, trying to really see what all the fuss was about. He really felt bad for that cat- it was situated just between the woman's legs, eyes wide with terror. Natalia was sitting, bent forward seductively, her incredibly fake boobs dangling.

"No boobs actually look like that," he said finally. "Look how awkwardly they stick out."

"Dude, what's wrong with you?"

"Fuck you, Craig," Kyle said, turning his back to the stupid poster and his stupid friends, especially stupid Stan with his perfect hair just out of the shower. Kyle took off his sweat-soaked shirt. When it finally peeled off his head and he opened his eyes, the bulky figure of Bruce, junior and starting quarterback, filled his field of view. His hair was dripping rivulets down his face, and he was wearing only a towel tied around his waist. He shook out his hair, and Kyle couldn't help but notice there was one fat, rouge water droplet dripping down his chest, right between the rift left by his six pack.

Kyle realized he was staring, and jerked back to his locker, grabbing his clean shirt.

"Hey. Were you staring at me?" _Shit, shit, shit, I wasn't, just spacing out, exhausted after practice... _"Hey- fag, I was talking to you."

The gym went silent, all eyes on the hulking figure of Bruce, who was rounding on Kyle.

Shirt on, Kyle turned back to the six-foot human train in front of him.

"N- No, no, I was..."

"Just what?"

"Nothing, no, I'm not-"

"Not a faggot?"

Kyle shook his head, trying not to cower. "Jesus, no, I'm not a fa- faggot." The word felt awkward in his mouth, and he grimaced.

Bruce smirked, victory etched on his face.

"Well all right then," he said. He turned and lumbered back to his own locker, whipping his towel off half-way there.

Kyle was more than aware that his traitor face had flushed bright crimson. He turned back towards his friends, dread a deep pit in his stomach. Stan was simply staring at him, mouth open with shock. A familiar high pitched, manic laugh cut through the icy silence of the locker room.

"Shut the hell up, Kenny," he snarled, grabbing his stuff, slamming his locker closed, and stomping out.

He wasn't gay. One stupid water drop didn't make him gay.

He had a _girlfriend, _for Christ's sake.

"So I heard about your locker room debacle."

Mandy had broken the comfortable silence of Kyle's kitchen. Kyle sighed, set down his pen, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What did you hear?" he asked. She had an infuriating smile plastered across her face. "I wasn't checking out Bruce. It was like one of those moments, when you stare off into space, and..."

"Staring off into space at his package?"

"I wasn't looking at his dick, I was- I didn't- Augh!"

She laughed, and leaned back in her chair. Kyle sighed. It had been three days since the infamous incident. He'd hoped it would just be forgotten as another of Bruce's stupid bully antics.

"How'd you even hear about that?"

"Are you kidding?" she laughed again. "It's South Park High School. People's lives are too boring, so they obsess over everyone else's. Gossip is just a fact of life. No thanks to Bebe." She rolled her eyes and scowled at the thought of her personal enemy.

She tapped her pen against her algebra textbook. "Did you get number twenty four?"

Kyle shuffled through his papers. "Uhh, X is greater than six point five."

"So what would you say, is Bruce's cock analogous to X, in inches?"

"Auggh!" Kyle crunched up the papers in his hand, and threw the paper ball at Mandy's stupid, blonde, smiling face. It bounced off uselessly. He stood up angrily, walking from the kitchen table into the living room.

Ike was bounding down the stairs.

"KYLE! KIIIGH-UULLL!" He was in fifth grade now, and thought yelling across the house in a high pitched voice was hilarious.

"WHAT Ike?"

"I'm headed out."

"Out? You're eight. Where are you going?"

"Eight and a half, thanks, and its none of your damn business."

"Fine," Kyle said. "But if Mom gets home before you do, I'm not taking the fall for it."

Ike flipped his brother off and slammed the door behind him.

Kyle collapsed on the couch with a tired sigh. Between school, and football, and Mandy, and Sunday Hebrew classes, he was feeling completely worn out lately. He picked up a magazine and flipped through the pages lazily. Across the room, Mandy stood in the doorway, watching her boyfriend read with a soft, sad smile.

He looked up when she sat next to him. Mandy pushed the magazine down, and took his hands in hers.

"Kyle... Why do you like me?"

He looked up from their interlocked hands, a nervous expression on his skinny face.

"What- why are you asking? Of course I like you!"

She nodded. "I know. And I like you too. A lot. But I want you to tell me what you like about me."

His eyebrows furrowed across his face. "I like your smile, and how smart you are. I think you're cute. Plus you're the only one that made Mr. Dandy's class bearable."

They both smiled at the thought of their eighth grade math teacher. In a class full of spit-ball throwing morons, they'd found each other. After running into each other by chance in a 7-11 slushy line, they'd exchanged phone numbers, and now here they were three months later.

"All right. But do you like me as more than a friend?"

The nervous knot in Kyle's stomach tightened.

"Of course I do."

That sad smile again. She ran a thumb down his cheek.

"Then kiss me."

Kyle ran a hand through her blonde hair, the nerves thickening into something more like dread as he shifted awkwardly toward her on the couch. What had gotten into her? He tried to smile, and leaned into her, pressing his lips against hers, remembering almost belatedly to close his eyes.

They broke apart, and he stared into her eyes, trying to figure out what she was thinking. Finally:

"You don't have to hide from me, Kyle," she said.

"What?"

"I know you aren't... attracted to me."

"That's stupid, of course I-"

She cut him off. "I know I'm cute. That's just a fact of life, regardless." They smiled at their inside joke. "But I know you better than most people, Kyle. I've seen how exhausted you've been lately, this weight you've been carrying around since I met you. You need to stop hiding from yourself, and everyone else. You can't lie to yourself forever."

He felt tears welling in his eyes, and wiped them away angrily.

"I'll always be here for you," she said, kissing his forehead. "But I can't keep up this charade for you."

Kyle choked down a sob. "But I _can't _be gay," he said, the words tumbling out. "Do you realize what they'd say, or do? I... I can't..."

"Who says? You are the way you are. What you can't do is change that. As much as I might want that." Kyle felt a guilty weight in his stomach. He hadn't really thought about _that. _"And as for the other boys? Bruce, Cartman, the rest? Fuck 'em." She smiled, and released his hands.

Kyle felt a smile stretch across his face.

"Okay," he said, rubbing at his splotchy face once more. He let out one last half-crying, half-laughing sob. "So maybe I'm a little bit gay."

For the first time in a long, long time, he felt an incredible lightness, the weight lifting, to be replaced by only self-realized happiness


End file.
